


Blood Over Wine

by shimizuchan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Love Triangles, Multi, i luv, its a lil bit of a mess tbh, oikiyo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimizuchan/pseuds/shimizuchan
Summary: A royalty AU in which Oikawa is the Grand King, economically depraved on account of his thirst for war against those who have previously wronged him. To salvage his army and his kingdom, he organizes a marriage alliance with Shimizu Kiyoko, the daughter of a wealthy financier. However, before they are able to be married, an unfortunate event keeps both away from the throne; kidnapped in the middle of dinner and taken to an enemy country as political prisoners, they struggle to think of a plan of escape. Also featuring Ushijima at some point ... Love triangles galore. Happy (late) birthday, Rome, and happy (early) birthday, Cez!





	1. Departure

The weeks following the announcement of Shimizu's betrothal were long and hectic, each passing progressively weighing her down with uncertainty and fear. Years of preparations in diplomacy had offered her a taste, but not yet the complete experience of organizing an alliance. In the delegations she had witnessed her father fulfill, she had only learned the formalities of the practice, and not yet attempted to engage them. There were many considerations to take to heart, and sensitive judgments to make; one mistake could upset the balance of unity between parties, or result in one's devastating, unequal outcome.

She was under the assumption that her father was fair and righteous in his dealings. She'd heard the whispers, denoting bankers as stingy little men whose only concerns were towards their own livelihoods, and thus their business decisions were only ever made to improve their positions, but she didn't see him as the same type of person. Unlike self-centered, corrupt financiers, he was well-known among his peers to be an amiable, compassionate man. He had formed a small empire of his own through investments and the necessary trustworthiness required to operate a bank as large as his, nominal as it was due to his lack of a title. Perhaps it was because of his overwhelming pure morality that many world leaders were willing to forgive that he was not a king or a duke, and to consider allying with him.

And he certainly hadn't hesitated to accept his new role as a diplomat; in fact, it was as if Shimizu's father had simply believed that it was another step of his career, and welcomed openly as such.

Nonetheless, his range of influence was still limited, and the boundaries were most firm within his own family. However much her father strove to design her as his diplomatic apprentice, Shimizu was always uninterested. She had other dreams and fantasies she would've liked to entertain, were it not for the fact that day after day she was to endure rigorous lessons on etiquette and foreign customs. Days spent indoors squinting under the dim light to read texts from other countries, dining and conversing with his merchant friends in their native tongues, and studying any number of factual subjects such as history or geography typically left Shimizu worn to the point of exhaustion, to the point where she was unable to do what she wished without feeling faint.

She was well-educated, and well-prepared in the areas designated --- a knowledgeable young lady, remarked by her father's friends as being of good temper and equal loveliness, as well. But despite the education she was granted, there were few worldly things she was appropriately prepared to meet, and the prospect of being married off at seventeen was not one of them; let alone did Shimizu consider herself ready to take upon the greater responsibility of a position on a throne.

Her husband-to-be, from what rumors she had heard whispered among her ladies, was young, and obsessed over war. His ascension to kinghood was grand and impressive, and he worked laboriously, but his attachment to battle cost him dearly. Economically, his kingdom was in ruins. Despite how much farmland he was able to conquer, the savagery of war left much area barren of crop and farmers, and he with a massive debt tied around his neck.

Thus, the intervention of her father was a possible response, but one such that no soul ever expected. He, a man of infamous wealth, would have made a suitable ally for the Grand King, were it not for the fact that he resided in an island nation far away from the assistance of the young warlord. Their respective geographies made them unlikely to ever come into contact with one another, and almost spitefully Shimizu caught herself wishing more than once that that had been the case. If her father hadn't met him, he would never have offered her hand to a man so far away, and so unknown to her.

If they hadn't met... Shimizu wouldn't be forced to sacrifice.

She knows she will have to finish her farewells, despite her hesitation and deep longing to remain at home, because her father will be seeking her out soon. He had informed her yesterday during their last meal that he would expect her to rise early, when the morning activity is at its peak and she can be seen off by as many residents as possible. By her judgment, that time should be nearing.

Slowly, her feet carry her on their own accord, as if she isn't even moving them on purpose, but her soul is driving her forward instead. She looks to the window, in hopes of catching one last glimpse of something familiar before her leave; she hopes that it will still the aches within, and give her strength to last the journey. Shimizu lands at her bedroom window and looks out, to the city famed for its otherworldly splendor, but only grows sad. Something in her heart pulls taut, anchoring her to stay. She could never have dreamt that she would have to leave it behind, when Torono has grown synonymous with home, and the image of the city has burned itself into her mind with a label that says the same thing.

As always, buildings seem to rise from the water and tower high, all the warm golden colour of sand; there's a stretch of vendors lining the cobbled streets, marketing art and food; a chorus of voices drifts from below through her window. The traffic is as flavorful and explosive as a port city's can be. But in honor of her engagement, there have been decorations commissioned: banners spread across the river bridges, thin canoes painted red and gold gliding by like water strider insects, vibrant fabrics hung from building windows, and an immeasurable aura of cheer that Shimizu dreadfully feels looming over her.

The government only permits extravagance such as this during festivals or markets, but she understands why this is considered a special celebration. Her marriage alliance marks the start of a very powerful relationship between countries. With Shimizu's ties to the bank and consequently to the many trading ports of her nation, and the Grand King's claim to land and royal title, they form one of the strongest unions that both their countries could hope to lay claim to. Her husband will assist her country's trade ships with naval support, and provide its ports with products from his lands, and she will be expected to financially support him through his wars and to provide an heir.

It's a mutually beneficial agreement, and would make her more powerful, but she simply doesn't want to leave, to marry a savage, nor to bear his children. She's never left her own country, on account of the many illnesses that tend to plague travelers. On her isolated island, she's safe from all worldly influences, and only has to fear domestic problems --- her father will be late for dinner, or she's lost one of her shoes. In a situation where she's expected to be a queen, not only does she have to be wary of the country she presides over, but the king who sits beside her.

Shimizu expects that if what she's heard about his politics is true, she must be cautious around the Grand King. She doesn't know how he will act around her, if he will be violent or easily angered. He may raise a hand to her, disrespect her, despise her. He would have the potential to execute her if he wished. If she is unsatisfactory, her life would be a mere candle flame, he would be able to order it blown out by the slightest breeze --- making her entirely worthless. Granted, if she dies at his hand, it's likely to upset their alliance, but Shimizu cannot help but to be wary of a man who wastes everything to fight. She's never felt the need to worry about the future, or to bode on negativity for too long, but the biggest step of her life is already upon her, and it's dark and terrifying. _He_ is terrifying.

Yet, as iron-willed as she is, she will try to turn her head to the side and ignore her concerns. She won't arrive at his castle immediately --- the journey will last months by ship, and fear now will not do her any good. Presently, there's a less serious, but considerably still pressing issue, which is the fact that her luggage is missing. She expects it was already put on her ship, stored away neatly, but she has no clothes to leave the house in, save for the nightgown in which she had slept. She doesn't doubt that her father would be upset if she were to board in such personal attire.

As if summoned, there's a knock at the door and the familiar sound of her father's voice: a soft yet somehow eerily firm tone, when he makes his request from behind, "May I come in?"

Shimizu closes her eyes, and tells him yes.

Her father enters the room with downcast eyes. He looks like a very sullen man, tall and thin with an angular face and dark features. There's something about his posture, slightly hunched over, that also makes him look anxious and frightened all the time. Contrary to the images conjured when one pictures a financier, he appears extremely introverted and shy, not at all like a man with claim to massive wealth. He's much less a banker than a scholar, save for the prudish way he narrows his eyes and pushes up his spectacles when in deep concentration. Shimizu had once told him when she was younger, in fact, that he should have been an author, because he had the same sorrowful eyes that she imagined of most, and the characteristic handsome darkness of the most famous tragics.

Of course, he'd smirked at the statement, and told her that authors don't make as much money as he does.

"Kiyoko," he addresses her but his eyes wander elsewhere, looking over her room now that most of her belongings have already been packed away, "I have a gift for you."

Shimizu is silent in return, still feeling that she's somehow been let down. She doesn't want to give him the benefit of polite conversation when he's decided to sell her off. As if it wasn't enough to part ways with a daughter, he won't be traveling the distance with her; instead, he will see her off with the ship and crew, but then returns to his own business, only waiting for the letter months later to report that she's arrived safely.

Her gaze is stern, distrusting, when she looks to him and nods.

He doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he gestures to the box he holds to his hip with one hand, and beckons her to come receive it. It would be comedic, were it not for the intense suspicion and bitterness that Shimizu has been harboring towards him for the past weeks. He looks like a fool trying to tame a wild animal with the way he offers her the box, and she the predatory beast who would like nothing more than to eat him up for its dinner and leave the box be. In a digression to her natural instinct, Shimizu stares with the same cold eyes, and tries to inspect from a safe distance, rather than approaching immediately.

He doesn't react any differently to her cautiousness, only shaking the box once to try persuading her to open it. A soft swish sounds within, and a small thump each time he rocks it back and forth. He tries to convince, "It's not harmful..."

She doesn't want to give in, because it would be much more satisfying to deviate from him in irritation, but she knows this game could be extended for an eternity, only sending them in circles. Her reluctance to accept the gift, albeit a small act of defiance, won't change her circumstances. Plus, if she doesn't open it right now, she assumes that he'll decide to exercise some of his fatherly powers and do it for her. So she approaches, slowly with dragging steps, and carefully removes the lid.

Unsure of what to expect, when her eyes catch sight of the item, she relaxes. It's a sensible gift, and she understands why he's offering it to her. A pale, low-cut dress, neither lacking in embroidery nor intricate bead-work stares back at her from within; it's almost a disappointment considering how worked up she'd become to expect worse. Shimizu's hands drop into the box and run over the fabric to test its quality, before she picks it up with delicacy. It's more promiscuous than anything she's ever worn before --- the chest is nigh entirely visible due to the steeping cuts, as is the back. There is absolutely no modesty in the gift, however beautiful it may be, which is something Shimizu graciously prides herself in practicing.

"Shirofuku consulted with me on it," her father darts in, as if reading her thoughts and expecting her opposition, "and said that it was low, but necessary. She gave me her word, you'd like it."

Shimizu is silent. If he had talked with her friends about the dress, then she should be more likely to trust in the judgment. Usually, they know what's better for her than she does, and she knows what's better for them than they do. But Shirofuku is one of the more playful friends; it's no doubt she would've supported the cut, considering how often she would talk to Shimizu about appealing to boys more, often by showing a bit more skin.

In that area, Shimizu had no problems. She didn't need to expose herself any more than she normally did to receive suitors. For her, men seemed to be plentiful, though she was aware that Shirofuku hadn't seen the same sort of attention recently. This might be a way to exact her vengeance, although not in a way that would be intentionally harmful. She, of all people, would know how a dress like this would force cracks into Shimizu's usual composure.

"I want you to wear it during your departure today, and... it would be nice if you wore it upon arriving, too," her father attempts to offer her some remedial words, "I hear attire of that sort is particularly popular in Seijou right now."

She looks at the dress again, and frowns. He's not being helpful.

"Oh, and there's something else in the box. I'll leave it with you, but you should be dressed soon. I've called for Tanaka and Nishinoya to make sure you get safely to the boat. They will be expected any minute..."

Shimizu nods, and he takes it as a sign to continue. "I must go now. Time is of the essence. You will write to me, won't you?"

She doesn't respond, and it doesn't seem as if he wants to wait for her. He turns on his heel and places the box on her bedside table, giving it a soft pat on the lid before he slips out the door. She notes, with a heavy heart, that he doesn't look back for one last goodbye.

From the moment he's gone and his footsteps in the hallway have subsided, Shimizu feels the box staring at her in wait. She knows that it wants her to look, however silly it is to assume that inanimate objects have desires of their own, but she won't concede to it. It's particularly unnerving to her to think what else he could've purchased, if this dress was the first thing she picked up, and if Shirofuku was the one supporting him in his search.

She decides to wait on the gift, perhaps until she begins to feel homesick and needs a stir in her heart to remind her what she left behind.

* * *

  
Months since he'd heard word from Shimizu-san. The last time that Oikawa had received a raven from the man, it was only to confirm that his daughter would be accepting the marriage proposal, and that he would be sending her off on boat in a few weeks. He'd asked for Oikawa to make the arrangements to have her transported to the castle after arrival, but that had been all. After that point, there was no word that she had even departed, nor when to expect her.

Left in wait, what more could Oikawa do? He had thought that Shimizu-san was a respectable man when they first met at a mutual friend's banquet --- intelligent and friendly, keen in all the right ways. But this little slip-up, which he hoped was just that, was leading him to believe that the girl was never coming. This might have just been a needlessly long and tiresome ordeal to undermine his power, in which case, hell was to be had.

He was wasting his men patrolling the national port where she was to land, and had had them patrolling for weeks, when he could have used the extra buffer on his armories or fortresses. He was wasting time, too; that Kageyama was gaining on the edges of his territory, dangerously close to his land, and already causing a few skirmishes about the farmland. His presence was not yet a thorn in Oikawa's side, but enough of an irritation to make him rear his ugly head and begin to prepare his next moves.

Not only did he despise Tobio-chan from the moment they had met in his father's court, as "playmates" --- Oikawa the heir to an empire and Tobio-chan the heir to his own, albeit smaller and less impressive nation, but he despised the possibility that he could be beaten by a flea like that. What an embarrassment it would be to lose to him, when he's only fifteen and only deserves as much land as he had been promised from his father. Tobio-chan may be a king by virtue of being born to the right parents, but he's hardly worthy of the title, in Oikawa's mind.

A king is more than that.

He clenches his fist, and grits his teeth, staring at the strategy table before him. There are mock armies, each legion represented by a carved wooden figure of its patron house, littered across the map; and annoyingly, since he'd last received word from his officers scouting enemy troop movement, he had been forced to rearrange their positions. Now, there were less wooden leaves, and more crows scattered about his lands.

The most pressing problem with being able to combat these consistently approaching forces was that he didn't yet have the money to prepare an army to the scale he wanted, and without the marriage alliance that Shimizu-san was offering, he was almost penniless. He would remain in a tense place until he recieved financial support, and his position in jeopardy of being knocked over, by a child, no less, if he were unable to react soon.

Iwa-chan had told him, many times, to relax, but that's difficult to do that when everything around feels daunting, and accusatory. His mind has been plagued with the same hisses he hears when he tries to sleep at night, and they continue for days without rest, tormenting him even as he tries to keep sane: Is he right to rule? Is he strong enough? How will he support his kingdom when he can't even support his armies? Do you think the king's death was his fault?

"Dammit," Oikawa groans, tightening his fist against the table until his knuckles bleach white.

"--- Oi, you."

It's Iwa-chan, he can already tell by the tone of voice being used. He must have snuck in the room without being heard, or it may just be that Oikawa was too far distracted in his own thoughts to notice that the door had opened. Both are viable, but equally upsetting possibilities. It means that Iwa-chan will be seeking to give him another talk, and it will likely be a serious one.

Oikawa drops his head to the table top, his forehead hitting the wood with a thunk. He's unwilling to look guilt in the eyes. "What?" he asks in exasperation.

He can hear the shuffling of Iwaizumi's feet, and the scraping sound of a chair being pulled out a few steps away. A swish as his trusted advisor and good friend sits down, and then, silence. Oikawa can feel the eyes burning into his skull, though he won't look up to acknowledge it, and he knows from the lack of words that he shouldn't. "You already know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

Oikawa bites at his lower lip, and stares at the grain of the wooden table before his eyes. It at least offers him something to distract himself with. "Something about watching out for myself?" he chances a guess, with a weak chuckle.

"That would be the most logical thing," Iwaizumi sighs, but his pause suggests that he has something else to say, different from the conjecture that Oikawa had posed. "I actually wanted to tell you to watch out for the girl, too."

Oikawa lifts his head and raises an eyebrow in curiosity, sensing his opportunity to insert some amusement into their gloom. It's the best way he can think to disperse some of this dense air that drags them down. Plus, he's become very skilled in catching the right cues. He smirks, and begins in a sing-song voice, "Iwa-chan, I didn't know you were such a gentleman to worry about women ---"

"I'm serious, Oikawa."

"What, are you jealous that I'm going to get married before you?" Oikawa tries to tease again, but his true feelings have the better of him, and he gives a dry laugh instead. "You can't tell me you weren't expecting this ... Oikawa kissed a girl first, Oikawa received a confession first, Oikawa laid with a girl first... It's about time he got married, too. Better now than to wait and let you outdo him..."

"Yeah, but you did that for fun," Iwaizumi's tone is flat and unforgiving. Apparently, he didn't take too kindly to the joking. "This is serious. Think about it, you're marrying her for money. You should be a little more compassionate, because I don't think she's as excited to be _used_ by a dumbass like you, as much as you're excited to finally tie the knot."

Oikawa huffs, and rearranges himself so he rests his elbow on the table, and can set his chin in his palm languidly. His foot kicks at Iwaizumi's leg, and he looks away as if already distracted from their conversation, lost in his own daydreams. "Think she's at least pretty? I might be more excited, then. I always wanted a beautiful wife, you know."

He watches as Iwaizumi visibly tightens his jaw, and frowns deeply. "She's certainly no milkmaid, Oikawa. And for her sake I hope she's smarter than one too; you could do without her money, and without the war."

"Iwa-chan ---" Oikawa begins, in a tone of disbelief. He's about to stand, to throw his fist down on the table in anger, because his war is justifiable, his power is absolute and he doesn't need Iwaizumi to tell him that all his hard work has just been for nothing...

"Your Grace, Iwaizumi-san," the door swings opens and interrupts him from his address. A breathless attendant, dressed in the blue kings guard uniform, looks to him urgently. He has red cheeks, bitten by the cold wind --- certainly no doubt that he had rode here without stopping.

Oikawa's eyebrows draw together in puzzlement, then fold down in frustration, almost testing the boy to give him bad news. Fate hasn't finished with him yet; Iwa-chan's lecture wasn't enough --- there just had to be something more.

"She's here. Shimizu Kiyoko has just landed at the port. I got word from Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san," the boy gets out, amidst heaving breaths. "They said they were going to escort her here."

Iwaizumi immediately stands proper when he hears the news, his back straight and his head held high, almost like a hound when its calling whistle has been blown. He glances once at Oikawa, an inaudible warning, and returns his attention to the attendant. "Kindaichi, go prepare my horse, and send word that I'll meet them halfway."  
The attendant, Kindaichi, seems in a rush to accept his word over Oikawa's, and leaves in a flurry before his king can make a contrary command, or even rise from his seat.

"Hah? Why're you going if Mattsun and Makki are there?" when the boy has left, he turns his focus to Iwaizumi, a bit annoyed. His chin raises even higher, eyes narrowing as if he appears to be looking down at Iwaizumi. As king, he has all the right to, and it seems an even more necessary response to the way Iwa-chan outwardly defied him. "You're going out of your way, Iwa-chan."

"I am," he agrees without dispute, "I have to. I want to warn her about you."


	2. Over Dinner

In the hours that passed after Iwaizumi had taken off on the horse prepared for him, Oikawa was left alone to do as he pleased --- which truly wasn't any different from what he'd done before. With the eventual silence that remained in Iwaizumi's absence, he was free to stare at his miniature army for as long as he liked, his head low and tired, but he didn't touch a piece. In spite of the temptation to move his own troops, now that there was at least some form of confirmation his marriage alliance would hold and he would be able to finance them, Oikawa remained lifelessly still, studying the display until his eyes burned and he had to rub away the restlessness and frustration.

Common courtesy would convince him to bathe and change his clothes, since it had only just occurred to him that he'd been wearing the same tunic for possibly days on end. The fabric clings to his skin, almost plastered to him due to the amount of time he'd sat in it as heavy as a statue, until it froze to his shape. Oikawa risks raising his arm, and sniffing. His nose crinkles, and he immediately forces himself to lower it in an effort to smother the odor. Indeed, if he's going to be meeting the woman he should marry, it would be better not to look, or smell like he does now.

He calls for a bath and cleans himself. It takes an invisible weight off of him for a moment, allowing him to relax his thoughts before he can burn himself out. He's scrubbed pristine, until his skin is raw and his outer shell of grime has been completely exhausted from him. His hair is washed thoroughly to remove days of oil, returning to the characteristic bounce and fluff that Iwa-chan has always mocked him for. He's treated well, and dried carefully by multiple attendants before he can even turn his head to look for his clothes.

When they finish, and he dismisses them for privacy, he spies his fresh attire folded neatly on a side table. From only one look, he sees a dark blue, which he assumes would be his best tunic. The attendants have brought him clean trousers, which he easily slips into and ties at the waist; his loose blue tunic, one of the richest silk shirts he owns; and his accessories, including the sword he wears sheathed by his hip --- his brother's, before he'd passed --- and the jewels he sports as a flashy display of wealth and title.

He wears rings, on at least two fingers each hand: most were his father's, and the sentiment of keeping some aspect of him following his death prevented Oikawa from immediately selling them. One is his mothers, which he doesn't wear but has been saving, for his wife or mistress, he hasn't decided yet. He keeps an amulet around his neck, shaped like a bird's ragged claw, but always wears it tucked beneath his shirt to hide from prying eyes. When he was seven, he had found it hanging from a loose tree limb during a ride in the forest, and took it out of curiosity. He never told anyone for fear that it might be a pagan symbol, and he might be burned as a heretic for owning it. But somehow, he feels safe whenever he's wearing it, pagan or not, so he's been consistently changing its hiding place around his room to prevent servants from stealing it and anyone who isn't him from finding it. When he's in need of the support, then he'll wear it.

Oikawa sets his eyes lastly on the crown, a short and squat golden round, just as his door opens. He pays no mind to the noise, assuming it's simply another announcement, and gestures for the newsbearer to continue despite his own lack of attention. He pauses, transfixed on the crown, the embellishments and carvings that run along the sides and play their story of his ancestors, the kings before him, and doesn't catch the first half of what his attendant says.

"Your Grace," he can hear the voice rising, growing louder to catch his attention, and Oikawa snaps to.

"Yes?"

"Iwaizumi-san is back," a simple, straightforward announcement, but it has Oikawa grinning widely --- not out of genuine relief for his friend's safe return, but in a sinister desire to prove how easy it is for his king to pull himself from a rut. He knows that Iwa-chan may be expecting him to remain in his military room, hunched over the strategy table like a raving lunatic, not to have showered and collected himself so soon. It's exciting to think how he will jump in surprise by seeing Oikawa in his kingly righteousness, properly dressed and responsive, in stark contrast to his appearance in his previous state.

"Then send him in," his fingers toy with the tips of his crown, pinching at the metal idly. "You don't need my permission to do that."

The boy nods, and exits. A moment later, Iwaizumi pushes the door open himself, hardly giving the attendant a chance to open it out of courtesy. Oikawa's smile grows even wider, but tenses when he notices that Iwa-chan isn't alone. What was once meant to be a courageous display of his ability to overcome his bad mood turns sour, and Oikawa can't help but to frown because his plans are ruined.

He makes as if to complain, shifting his weight to one side and putting his hand on his hip, until he notices who Iwaizumi has on his arm. A faint blush is dusting his cheeks, which Oikawa has never seen before, and he looks much more childish; he's babyfaced and gentle, smiling and chatting ably in a relaxed voice, so unlike the harsh, stony man that Oikawa was accustomed to. Linked to him delicately, there's a girl, unlike anything he's ever seen before.

When Iwa-chan had said, unknowingly, that she probably wasn't like the milkmaids Oikawa knew, he was right. Her hair, jet black, fell neatly over her shoulders, so smooth and yet she looked as if she didn't notice it, with the way she carefully pushed a strand behind her ear. Fair-skinned, lean features, plush lips, and a beauty mark below her mouth that made Oikawa suck in a breath. She was exquisite, and when she finally paused from her ongoing conversation with Iwa-chan to look to him, he felt as if this must be some kind of joke. Her eyes, a piercing blue-grey, like the rain was able to be captured within them, catch his and he tenses, before he knows he must be stronger.

"My Lord," her accent is thick and foreign, even as she speaks the common tongue. When she pauses to bow before him, he watches her carefully, until he can see the part in her hair. Her dress is light and dreamy on her, and Oikawa admits to himself that he doesn't mind the way it tapers into a v-shape down her chest and similarly her back. When she bows, she pulls out the sides in a half-curtsy, she appears to float: some otherworldly creature, directly responsible for every fantasy that Oikawa has ever entertained in his mind.

"You may rise," he tells her, not allowing himself to look away.

"This is---" Iwaizumi begins, as if to introduce her, but the realization strikes first and Oikawa fills in for him.

"Shimizu Kiyoko."

The girl nods quietly, but offers nothing more to the conversation.

"Ah, my dearly betrothed," Oikawa tips his head to her to acknowledge the fact, and gives his best smile. It's the one he uses infamously, to charm, which he knows Iwa-chan despises. "Welcome."

"Thank you," Shimizu is soft-spoken and proper, but that's alright. It occurs to Oikawa that she's probably weary from her journey; traveling by boat for months, only to arrive and require transport by horse and carriage must have driven her mad. He doesn't doubt that Iwaizumi had sought to her needs beforehand, and by the way she was linked onto his arm he must have also given her an informal tour. He also trusts that her luggage was stored, and looks to Iwaizumi for unspoken confirmation that everything was accounted for. The nod sent back tells him it was.

Unfortunately, if she is still tired, he would be kind to offer her some rest before dinner --- something he's ashamed to admit that he hadn't prepared for as much as he would've liked. A woman of this caliber deserves a feast much grander than anything he can manage to organize in the time he has left.

He glances at Iwaizumi once more, before he makes the proposition to her, "You must be weary from travel. Iwa-chan can take you to your room to rest. There is some free time before dinner, anyways."

Iwaizumi smiles reassuringly towards her and presents his arm, which she once again accepts, with but one final look behind her that leaves Oikawa with much to ponder in the time until their meal.

* * *

  
The room that Iwaizumi-san takes her to is large and impressive. The Grand King's whole castle is made of stone, but the interior is decorated with less severity than what one is able to see on the outside. Soft carpets, lavish tapestries, and the calming warm glow of candles. When she's masked within, she almost forgets that she's far from home; the weather in Seijou is almost exclusively rainy and grey, whereas Torono was sunny each day. Sheltered from the unfamiliar forests and clouds that she stared at during the carriage ride, it's easier to relax, but Shimizu doubts that she will ever be able to fully fall asleep here.

Contrary to what he had assumed, she's far from being tired. At some point during the trip, her adrenaline rose and kept her awake for days, only to be able to sleep for a few hours after. Now is no different, in a new setting where she fears she should be wary of everything, of everyone. She will remain wide-eyed and alert even in her own room, where she should sleep but cannot. The bed is large enough for four people, covered with furs and warm woven blankets, but Shimizu can't bring herself to lay in it, let alone sit down on it to catch her breath.

Thankfully, her chambermaid Hitoka-chan was permitted in with her. For the time that she will have to stay here, they will play cards that she brought. Simple games, many of which Hitoka-chan had taught Shimizu, which she grew up playing with her family before she began working. They had even made up a few during the sail here, albeit the rules were very fuzzy and seemed to constantly change each time they sat down to play. It's easier to simply allow Hitoka to lead, and Shimizu will follow, in an attempt to keep her grounded and distracted.

"A-ah, Shimizu-san, it's your turn," Hitoka tries to be polite about her interruption, always a gentle soul who would wish no harm upon anyone. She's always been cautious, even around Shimizu, despite the numerous reassurances she would receive that it was alright --- even better --- that she treat her lady as a friend than a superior.

At this time, Shimizu thinks she's in need of a friend.

"I'm sorry," she replies, and plays her card accordingly. Though Hitoka-chan is the one who knows the games better, Shimizu always wins, whether by luck or by strategy. It must have been disappointing the first few times they would play together, but she knows Hitoka is willing to offer her company when she needs it even if that means losing card games.

"Did you... see him?"

"Who?" Shimizu pauses and looks away from her cards. Hitoka-chan is giving her a curious sort of look, with wide, innocent eyes, and one lip pouting before the other in thought. At times, she looks much younger than she really is, like she's ten instead of fifteen, but spending so much time together has made Shimizu discover otherwise. She's merely been denied the type of childhood she should have had; having to go straight to work as a chambermaid in a strange home after her father died of disease closed many doors for her. She was forced to grow up immediately just to survive, and as such, hadn't had the time to catch up on all her wasted years.

"The Grand King..." she whispers like it's a sin just to call him that title. Shimizu has never seen Hitoka-chan wanting to talk about men, but quickly dismisses her surprise with a smile, remembering that she had been the same when she was younger. It was a very secretive thing, to talk about boys as romantic interests rather than animals. Only girls could talk to each other in this way, and she knows that Hitoka hasn't had another girl to listen.

"I did."

"What was he like?"

Shimizu hesitates to answer, biting her lip to think. She knows she had been cautious around him, and a bit rebellious --- the way she spoke the common tongue with a purposeful accent, when she was able to speak it just fine otherwise, was meant to express her dismay and resistance towards him --- but nothing about him, especially, struck her. She chooses her words carefully, after self-delegation, "He's... deviant."

"Deviant?"

"He doesn't act like a king," Shimizu rephrases.

"W-well, I'm sure not all kings are the same," Hitoka attempts to offer some consolation with a nervous smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "He might be the good kind of different..."

Shimizu sighs, and looks back to her cards. "Perhaps."

"I---" Hitoka begins to speak, but she's interrupted with a loud knock that makes her accidentally bite her tongue and give a quiet whimper of pain.

The knock continues, a powerful rap against the wooden door, until Shimizu stands from her cards and answers.

"I'm here to escort you to dinner," Iwaizumi says when she opens it to face him. In a way, she's glad that it's at least someone she recognizes, not a strange attendant she's never seen before; at the same time, she'd rather not walk again with him, because he puts in too much effort to make conversation with her. When he rode in the carriage with her, he was nothing but a mass of questions, about the quality of her journey and what she liked to do in her free time, because he could easily arrange things for her in the castle if she ever felt like she had nothing to keep busy with, and even what her favourite food was.

"Mm," she turns and looks to Hitoka-chan, who gives her a warm smile and a nod to signal she understands that Shimizu must go. When she turns back to Iwaizumi, his arm is already presented to her, apparently a foreign custom when escorting women.

She takes it, and he begins to talk. However, unlike before, he's more serious, and doesn't ask her questions for fun. He walks in short steps to ensure that she stays beside him, rather than the long strides she knows he's capable of taking, and doesn't look at her when he speaks. "When I left to meet you halfway here, I told Oikawa that I was going to warn you about him."

Her eyes widen, but she doesn't speak. He doesn't sound finished, by the tone of voice he uses and the way he furrows his brow while thinking of the words he wants to say.

"I was worried he would act out. He has a nasty personality and tends to do that --- a real brat, if you knew him like I do," Iwaizumi falters, realizing that he'd unintentionally made his king out to be a bad candidate for marriage. "But he was taken with you, and didn't react at all how I thought he might..."

Shimizu purses her lips and looks down to avoid anything he might be insinuating about her, but Iwaizumi notices and quickly apologizes.

"Sorry, I only meant... I had planned to tell you about him so you wouldn't have to learn on your own, but I don't think he'll be a problem for you," something about this makes Shimizu confused, like he's pointing to her and assuming she's someone who can handle difficulties relatively well. "If he does... become difficult, I'm willing to mediate for you."

Her heart drops. Iwaizumi-san had just offered her the empty shell of a promise, which she didn't expect he would be able to effectively uphold. It's easy enough to say that one will be there in times of hardship, but entirely different to actually commit. And to mediate, that's hardly worth anything. She could have anyone mediate; if her husband really did become difficult, as Iwaizumi seems to suggest he will, she wouldn't even need a mediator. She'd need an ally, a friend to keep beside her in solidarity.

But she must thank him, even if she isn't truly grateful for his attempt to help her relax. "Thank you."

It's a stroke of good luck that, before he can make any more saddening promises, he tells her that they've arrived at the dining room. She enters before he does, and allows him to guide her to her seat at the foot of the table. She notices, with a small hint of embarrassment, that the Grand King is already seated at the head of the table, and that they were likely arranged to be placed like this in order to directly look at one another. Shimizu refuses to meet his eyes, and instead drops hers to her plate.

There's a strange dark slab in the middle, and vegetables she doesn't recognize piled beside it. A glass of dark wine is set beside her plate, which she doesn't dare to touch. At home, she was offered drinks but never accepted them, unaccustomed to the bitter taste and the alcoholic stupor that would follow if she partook in excess. Shimizu steals a glance, only to verify that the king is eating, and when she's certain he is, she lifts her fork.

She doesn't pierce any item of food before he chirps to her, "That's beef, from a cow. I know you only ever ate fish or chicken in Torono, but we breed plenty of dark meat here, too. I'll have you try it all, and you tell me which one you like best."

Shimizu agrees warily, venturing to stake her fork in the beef he's introduced, until he speaks again and she forces herself to listen.

"And the vegetables are native, too. I'm not sure you'll like them as much --- they're useful for nutrition but not for taste. Oh, wait," he seems to distract himself from the topic and stands from his chair. Shimizu watches him walk the length of the table beside her, where he fearlessly grabs her hand and directs her how to cut the meat. He has his hands clenching hers tighter around her silverware, one forcing her to put her fork in the beef and the other helping her saw into it using the knife.

She gasps, at first when he boldly touches her without warning, and then as he proceeds to keep his hands clamped over hers. His skin is rough and the way he cuts the meat with her is hurried, violent. Shimizu blinks wildly and tries to speak, to get him to stop.

"I- I can---"

"Here we go," he cuts a square chunk off and takes the fork from her. "I'll feed you. I want to see your reaction up close."

"That's fine, I'll take---"

"This is your first taste of beef, isn't it?" he's eager to ask, and even more eager to brush her hair aside for her, bringing the fork nearer. "Tell me how good it tastes."

In hopes that she can escape this brash behaviour he exhibits, Shimizu snatches the fork from him and takes the beef between her lips, considering herself lucky not to have been fed by someone else. The meat is much chewier than what she's used to eating, and she struggles to make herself swallow. It's heavy, too, and even one bite has her feeling as if she'd already had too much. "It's... good," she lies, and drops her eyes again with the intention of satisfying him enough with such a reaction.  
It must have been, because she hears the shuffle of fabric and watches his shadow travel back to his side of the table. She hears him slump back into his seat and reorganize himself, and notes the sound of his silverware clinking when he begins to eat.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi clears his throat in light of the awkward and inexplicably uncomfortable transaction that had occured between Shimizu and the king. "You have a wine stain on your shirt. Couldn't you be more careful?"

"Dammit," Oikawa sighs, and rubs harshly against the stain with his napkin. "She distracted me."

"I'm sorry," Shimizu offers her apologies, though she's unsure what wrong she's done, or even how she was the one to be distracting after he had approached her first.

He laughs. "Don't be. You can't help how beautiful you are to my eyes."

To this, Iwaizumi and Shimizu exchange looks, before he coughs again dismissively and she turns her head to the floor, hiding her embarrassment.

They eat in silence, Shimizu trying to balance how much meat she eats with the vegetables she prefers so not to seem rude, Iwaizumi already finished with his plate, and Oikawa caught between eating and staring. She knows he hasn't taken his eyes away, since the sound of his movements have hushed and it doesn't seem as though she's heard him pick up his fork since she finished eating the leafy vegetables. Out of curiosity, she lifts her eyes to check, if he's going to continue staring, just as he opens his mouth to say something else.

"Shimizu, I was wondering---"

But he pauses and it surprises her, though she doesn't gasp until she feels something cold slip around her neck, adding enough pressure to make her stiffen but not enough to choke or harm her. Her back goes straight as a board and from the corner of her eye she can see both Oikawa and Iwaizumi stand to attention, each with his hand on the hilt of his sword

"Tobio-chan!"

"Oikawa-san," there's an unfamiliar voice behind her, and she closes her eyes submissively, in fear of the worst. This could be a cruel joke of some sort, meant as a strange initiation she had yet to receive, but the urgency and anger in Oikawa's voice makes her think that it's something worse, threatening.

"What're you doing to her?"

"Nothing. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?"

"I don't plan to hurt her. Just come with us."

Shimizu hears the sound of a sword being drawn, in close proximity, and her hands clench into little fists in her lap. There's the clash of metal against metal, a grunt, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor with a thump. She stops hearing the king's voice, and brings her hands together, clasping them as if in prayer. Who fell? Another clash, this time a hiss of breath. More clashing, vigorous and unending. She hears another thump, this time louder, like the butt of the sword has connected with bone, before she catches Iwaizumi fall to the floor, blood spilling from a wound just above his browbone.

She feels queasy, and grips the edge of the table to keep from slipping out of her chair. Her mouth opens, a sharp breath pulled in, and it feels hard to keep calm. There's a dizziness in all she sees, a ringing in her ears and the cold feeling against her neck adds more pressure and makes her squeeze her lungs to inhale again. All the effort, only to breathe, and to force herself to use all that she has to speak a single word: "Stop..."

The person behind her sighs. "He shouldn't have fought back, _tch_. Let's hurry and leave. I don't want more trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... and by that I mean, now things are finally getting interesting and I don't have to bore you with exposition any longer. I'm sorry this is such a generic plot lol.


End file.
